


Crash

by posingasme



Series: Too Much and Not Enough [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Big Brother Dean, Caretaker Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exams, F/M, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Sam Winchester, Law Student Sam, M/M, Past Balthazar/Castiel, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, Past Relationship(s), Pierced Castiel, Piercings, Sick Sam Winchester, Tattooed Castiel, Tattoos, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of midterms, Sam is struggling with stress, sickness and a clueless angel.</p><p>Castiel's confidence makes him attractive, and not just to Sam. </p><p>He furthers his friendship with Dean as things with Sam become shaky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/gifts).



> Nobody needs this kind of drama in their lives.
> 
> (Personal note: This is EXACTLY how my own 6'4" baby brother gets sick. He only gets sick every few years, and then he turns into an enormous, delirious ball of pitiful. So that was the inspiration. Just FYI.)

Sam was certain he was never going to be a lawyer.

His professors had drilled into them session after session, ad nauseam, just how brutal law school was and how terrifying the bar was. Some of them said it with far-off looks that smacked of post-traumatic stress. So when he found himself staring across the library at a familiar smile instead of taking frantic notes in his Hammurabi to Magna Carta concepts of law book, he got the gut-pinching feeling that he was going to have to change his major.

It was hard to concentrate on the Talmud when Castiel was giving that sexy smirk to the girl he was helping with the microfiche machine. Sam glared at them moodily. If the media clerks would finish that job of digital conversion they kept getting more funding for, Castiel wouldn’t have to be leaning over that blonde ditz who looked more like a dental hygienist than a religious studies major.

Charlie would have slugged him for that thought, and he knew it. A woman could be beautiful and smart and talented and ambitious…blah blah blah. But did she have to use that evil Barbie smile on a man he was sleeping with? Maybe if her teeth didn’t look like they were all carved out of the same sheet of white marble, and if her hair didn’t do that thing with the spiraling, and if…well, if the rest of her weren’t quite so maddeningly perfect, maybe Sam wouldn’t care.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t Castiel’s type.

He watched him reach down and touch the machine, and let his fingers brush hers. Sam wanted to throw up.

The truth was that Castiel didn’t have a type. He had met Meg. He had seen a photograph of Anna. And he had pieced together an image of Balt in his head. The three most significant of Castiel’s former exes had absolutely nothing in common as far as he could tell. Meg was all dark hair and mischievous painted lips and round, beautiful face. Anna was a pale redhead, who had only barely smiled for the camera, and who leaned back on an enormous oak tree with an expression like she was some pure, ethereal thing from another world. Gabriel had once described Balt as looking like a younger version of Mikael from Vampire Diaries, and, never having seen the show, Sam had looked it up to find a gorgeous, slim, blond man with bright blue eyes and a constant grin. Then there was Sam himself. He didn’t look or act like any of them.

So who was to say this evil Barbie bitch wasn’t every bit as attractive to Castiel as any of them? Damn Castiel and his freaking open-mindedness! It didn’t help at all that Castiel was nearly everyone’s type. The man exuded sexuality even when he was innocently reading a book. Sam had come to understand that Castiel physically could not stand to not touch someone in his proximity. It was not unconscious; nothing about Castiel was without thought. It was as though the man communicated through touch and gaze just as much as with words.

Sam realized he had been glowering daggers at this poor girl for several minutes already. He cleared his throat and glanced around to make sure no one else had noticed.

Castiel’s hand touched the girl’s shoulder, and rested there for a moment. Then he turned and walked away from her, only to find Sam’s hazel eyes boring into him from across the room. He smiled and approached the desk where Sam’s books were spread out before him. “Hey, pup,” he whispered with warm fondness.

“What?” Sam snapped.

The dark brows lifted. “I just said hey. That okay? Is this one of those times when you’re studying and I’m not allowed to talk to you because you’re going to fail a bar exam you’re not even scheduled to take for another three years?”

Sam’s jaw was busy with his clenched teeth, but he took a deep breath. “No. I’m not getting much done anyway.”

“Is it because of the hot, punked-out library aide in a sweater? I’m aware it’s all your favorite kinks. Should I get some hipster glasses?”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Yes, but I’m being paid to be a pain in your ass right now. Ordinarily I have to do it for free.”

“When do you get off?”

Castiel grinned. “Usually just after you do.”

Sam threw his hands up. “I swear to god, Castiel, if you spend any more time with Gabriel, I’m going to punch you in your face.”

The man laughed and turned his attention to his own hands. He pulled off one of his silver rings and tossed it to Sam.

“What’s this about?”

“It’s not working.”

The younger man frowned up at him. “Is it…broken?”

The pierced eyebrow peaked. “Wow. Uh, no. I mean it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe that blond girl would like it,” he snapped before he could close his mouth over the words. 

Castiel tilted his head. “Who, Lilith?”

“I didn’t know her name. But I guess you do.” He played with the ring absently.

His boyfriend nodded slowly. “Okay. So I’m going to get back to work where there isn’t as much crazy. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you back at the apartment, okay?”

Sam did not respond.

The blue eyes looked at him for another moment, then they rolled, and he walked back to the circulation desk, shaking his head.

When the small redhead plopped down next to him, Sam startled badly. “Jesus, Charlie! What’s wrong with you?”

She stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Nothing, I’m just…I’m sick of studying. It’s making me a little bit high-strung.”

“How long you been at it?”

“About thirty-five hours now, with a twenty minute nap in there somewhere, plus a nice hallucination where this gorgeous guy with a lip ring brought me a red eye.”

She giggled. “Those are the good hallucinations. How much coffee have you had?”

“I lost count after the ninth one.”

“Yeah, okay, Starbucks. Let’s dial you down a little. I think you need a break.”

He stretched his long legs in front of him, and his arms above him. “How’s Jo?” he asked mid-yawn.

“Delicious.”

“Please don’t tell me.”

“What? She is. I can’t believe you’ve known her for four years and never thought to introduce me!”

He shrugged defensively. “Dude, I thought she was straight!”

“You have absolutely no instinct, you know that?”

“For lesbians? Sorry, I never bothered to take that course at Rainbow School.”

She smiled. “But yet you took an extra semester of Sassy Gay Man-ology. How lucky for the rest of us!”

“I don’t think I like you when you’re getting laid.”

“Well, be prepared to like me less and less as time goes by. Jo and I are officially a thing.”

Sam licked his lips, and closed one eye in a cringe, fending off mental images. “What were you before?” he said, knowing he would be sorry he asked.

“Sapphic associates.”

He relaxed. “Well, that wasn’t as bad as I expected.” He resumed his staring across at the circulation desk.

Charlie smirked. “You’ve been around Gabe too much lately.”

“I know, right?”

“You know, you don’t look too good. Why you giving poor Castiel the evil eye?”

He gave a rumbling growl, and closed his textbook. “Charlie, never date a handsome man.”

She nodded with false sincerity. “That’s good advice. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m serious. Especially a bisexual one who thinks gender is all in our heads, and completely irrelevant to attraction. It’s nothing but stress.”

“I don’t think that’s bisexual. I think that’s something else.”

“You know what I mean. He’s attracted to men and women. And everyone who’s not crawling under Jo Harvelle’s skirt is trying to get under his.”

Charlie gave a dramatic blink, then shook her head. “Neither of them even wears skirts.”

“Cas has a kilt. I’ve never seen it on him, but I know he has one.”

“Oo-kay,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s always something with you boys, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She threw her hands up. “I mean there’s a reason you don’t go into the game’s forums, dude! Or read comments on webcomics or articles! Or respond to anon on Tumblr! Nobody needs that kind of drama in their lives!”

“What? I’m not dramatic!”

“No? Because you just made up fan fiction in your head where your favorite character has been shipped with everyone in the world who isn’t me.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

Charlie took his hands in hers gently. “Sam, look at me. Castiel is dreamy. Other people are going to notice. But you don’t need to worry about it.” She patted Sam's hands. "Sam, that man always refers to you as stunning. Stunning. Who says that? I'll tell you who says that. A guy who is so freakishly in love with a man that he can't stand it. So what are you worried about?"

Sam was chewing on his lip, but now he stopped to sigh. "I wasn't. Honest I wasn't. I'm ten months in with this guy. But the last five or six nights he's worked, he hasn't come home right away."

"So?"

"So..." Sam jutted his chin toward the circulation desk. "That."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Ooh."

He nodded. "Yeah."

Castiel was leaning over a filing cabinet, but his head was turned up toward the woman beside him with a smile which Sam wanted badly to be able to identify as anything other than suggestively sexy. The woman was tucking her dark hair behind her ear and returning the smile with a soft one of her own.

The dark hair reminded him of Meg, the pale face of Anna, and the blue eyes of Balt. Absolutely nothing about her reminded Sam of himself.

***

Hannah was watching him. He smiled and turned back to look at his co-worker. “Have I done something to earn that look?"

“We still have twenty-five minutes to close, Castiel,” she warned. "You can't close early during midterms. The law kids will riot.”

"I merely suggested we kick some of the sleepers into the all-night room, and head out ourselves."

"There are fourteen undergrads, about a dozen graduates and a professor in here, and I don't think any of them are sleeping, not during midterms. They're all hardcore nerds, like your friends over there."

Castiel looked up to see that Charlie had joined Sam at the study table. He waved at them, and got odd looks in return. He sighed.

"What's up with your fan club?”

"Who knows?" Castiel grumbled. "I must have screwed something up."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're dating a brat."

The man's dark brows knitted together in a frown. "What?" he demanded.

"He's not using any library resources. Did you notice?"

Castiel blinked at her. "I don't..."

"He could be studying anywhere else, but he's not. He's studying here. Because he can keep an eye on you."

"That's ridiculous."

Hannah crossed her arms and smiled softly. "I agree."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, that's not…what he's doing." But his voice faded off toward the end of his argument.

She shrugged. "Okay. You're probably right. So are you coming out to the coffee shop with us after work?"

He found himself stammering. "No, I...Yeah, maybe for a little while. My midterms are all papers, so I'm mostly done...Yeah, okay."

Hannah gave him a sweet smile. "I think you'll like the poetry thing. You should invite Sam. You said he was a writer."

"No. He needs to rest. He's got some rough exams coming up." He found himself deliberately not looking across the room to where Sam and Charlie were whispering.

Hannah nodded. "Just us and Crowley, then."

It was past two o'clock when Castiel quietly deposited his key on its hook, and closed the apartment door behind him. Gabriel was surely out. It was exam week tradition for the man to crash at his brother's place to get hammered nightly and stoned every morning. Gabriel's intelligence was entirely off the charts. One of his favorite games was to take his exams while high as a kite, and still ace them. One year, just for fun, he had even attended an exam for a differential geometry course he had never even taken, and a very confused professor had tracked him down to hand him back an A, and ask why he could not find his file in the class roster to record the score. It was pretty obnoxious, really.

Castiel did not turn on a light. He crept in as quietly as he could, his only desire to brush his teeth and fall into bed. But he was met with such a horrible, almost animalistic, sound filling the apartment that he froze in his tracks.

An instant later, he was sprinting beyond the bedroom into his bathroom to find the most pitiful sight his heart had ever withstood.

Sam's enormous body was hunched into the small space, limbs spilling all over the floor. His face was a distressing grey, and every patch of exposed skin was slick with sweat. He was retching horribly, but it was obvious that everything in his stomach had already come up, because he was not even bothering to try to reach the toilet at this point. His hazel eyes were squeezed shut through an extreme grimace, as his stomach cramped again. But as before, it was a futile effort, and nothing left his lips but a miserable groan.

“Sam!” Castiel cried with sympathy in his voice.

“I’m sick,” the large man moaned pitifully.

His lover crouched on his heels beside him. “Yeah, baby, I can see that.”

It was the first time in all these months that Castiel had addressed him that way, and Sam’s eyes peeked out of narrow slits to glance at him, but Castiel did not notice.

“Oh, Sam. Why didn’t you call or text me? I would have come right home!”

The brown head was shaking, but he was unable to speak.

Guilt crept into Castiel’s stomach. At no point all night had he thought to text Sam to let him know where he was or when he expected to be back. If he had, he knew Sam would have responded with what was going on. “Okay, baby. It’s all right. It’s my fault. Let’s try to get you comfortable.”

Castiel threw a heavy arm over his own shoulders, and balanced himself, then lifted the huge man to his unsteady legs. It took some time and spatial negotiation, but he managed to get both of them out of the bathroom to lay his boyfriend onto the bed. The man’s entire body was trembling, and on top of that, he was feverish and shivering. He covered Sam with blankets, and cringed as he received a slight smile from white lips and a gaze of adoration and gratitude from the beautiful eyes. It only made his stomach nag at the ball of guilt more furiously.

“You’re burning up, baby. Have you taken any medicine?”

Sam licked his cracked lips with a dry tongue. “Threw up Tylenol before midnight.”

Over two hours ago. Castiel sighed. “God, pup, you’ve been throwing up for two hours? I’m so sorry, Sam! Look, I’m going to get you something to drink, okay? No, no, I know. I know you don’t want it. But look, you have to hydrate. You haven’t slept, you’ve barely eaten, you’ve drunk a barista’s weight in coffee the past two days, and you’ve obviously puked up every ounce of fluid down to your toes. I know you don’t want to, but I think it would be a good idea. Okay? Just some broth.”

A blink was his only response. Sam was too exhausted to argue or even to acquiesce. He just stared blankly at his angel.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Sleep if you can.”

Castiel himself rarely got sick, which was his automatic response whenever Sam or Gabriel teased him about how much he enjoyed his sleep. But if there was anything he knew how to do, it was take care of someone who needed him. When that someone was Sam, the task filled him entirely, until it was the only thing in his world.

He decided he would make a good broth later, when Sam finally slept. For now, he found one of the few actual sources of nutrition Gabriel kept in the apartment, a can of pre-made noodle soup, and he separated the liquid from it, pouring it into a mug to heat in the microwave, then set the noodles and tiny pieces of chicken into a bowl with a spoon. He doubted Sam would be able to eat them, but he wanted to offer. When it was warm, he put the broth into a travel coffee mug, and closed the top securely. He knew his big puppy was more likely to wear the broth than consume it if there was no barrier.

After a moment spent wondering if he should attempt to give the man Tylenol, he heard pitiful noises coming from the bedroom and hurried in with the food.

Sam was whimpering. It broke his heart to hear it.

“Okay, baby. I’m going to try to get you sitting up, okay?” He did not wait for a response, but pulled gently on the large man until he was reasonably upright in the bed, leaning against the headboard.

“Can’t sleep,” he reported hoarsely. It was almost an admission of defeat, as if he had failed at something Castiel had asked of him.

“I know, pup. It’s okay. We’ll get you some sleep. I promise. Here. Can you hold it? It’s okay, I can help. That’s it.”  
 Even with each of them making their best effort, they only managed to get a swallow into the man before he gave in to gravity and dropped his hands back onto the bed. Castiel sighed and put the cup on the side table.

“We’ll try again in a little bit.”

Sam nodded wearily.

He took hold of one of the large hands, and smiled. “You never do anything small, do you?”

There was a pitiful whine from the younger man’s throat in response. Then, after a moment of silence between them, Sam choked out the words that punched into Castiel’s gut without mercy. “Where were you?”

He closed his eyes. Perhaps to someone else, that question might have no deeper meaning than a desire to know how Castiel had spent the last several hours, and that was certainly the way Sam had meant it. But to him, it was an accusation, an assignment of blame. Their entire relationship, as far as Castiel was concerned, had its foundation in him being there for Sam. It was how they had met, and it was how Sam had slipped into his heart without him even realizing it. Castiel had the strength and gentle touch Sam needed, and he excelled at caring for him. Since that beginning, though, Sam had been happier, full of energy and confidence, and Castiel had suddenly been the one faltering. He still saw himself as the younger man’s protector and guardian angel, but often, Sam was the one providing him with emotional support as he navigated this wholly unfamiliar territory. And now, he had let it go too far. It was not just that he had leaned too hard on Sam, it was that he had stopped letting Sam lean on him, and that was unacceptable.

He grasped the large hand, kneading gently at its muscles, and pulling a tiny smile from Sam’s poor, broken lips. “I went to a midnight poetry slam at a coffee place with some friends. I should have told you I was going, that I’d be late getting back. I’m sorry.”

There was a small shrug, and Sam’s eyes lowered to watch their hands. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Did you have fun?”

 _Not anymore_ , Castiel wanted to say. _This feeling has managed to go back in time and erase anything positive about the night_. But he did not say this. “Yeah, it was okay. But I would have rather been here taking care of you if I had known. I just thought you were studying all night.”

“Need to,” Sam admitted. “My concepts book, can you reach it?”

Castiel shook his head. “Sam, you need to rest.”

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured again. “May as well study.”

He was certain that had made perfectly logical sense inside the puppy’s head, but he refused. “Sam, I’ll help you study in the morning, okay? Tomorrow is Sunday. You spent all night Thursday, all day and night Friday and all day today studying. I have no idea how you’re even conscious.”

“All I’m good at.”

A frown came over his face then. The words had been spoken so quietly that he was not even sure he had heard properly. “What, pup?” he said as he put a hand to the slick, hot forehead hiding under sweaty hair.

Sam tried to swallow, but seemed to choke instead. He cringed as another round of stomach cramps tried to push bile up his throat, only to find nothing to push. Castiel braced him through it. When at last he could relax again, he sighed, and picked up where they had left off. “Student,” he wheezed. “It’s all I ever been.”

Castiel knew he should be telling Sam to rest, not to talk, maybe to try another sip of broth, or to lie down, but instead, he heard himself ask again. “What? What does that mean?”

“Nerdy freak. Little nerdy freak, now a big nerdy freak, but it’s all the same. Not even that smart, but smart enough. Smarter than I am anything else. Except big.” The man’s eyes were glazing suspiciously, his head lolling back on his neck, and it was becoming obvious that the fever was at fault.

“Sam, you’re not making sense, okay? Look, you’ve got a really bad fever. I just want you to rest. We’ll talk about what you are tomorrow, okay? It’s going on three in the morning, and I need you to sleep.”

“I want a shower. I’m gross.”

“Okay. As soon as you can stand up by yourself, you can have a shower. Until then, I’m going to get a wet cloth, and I’m going to clean you up, but you’re going to fall asleep, okay? You want some soft rock or something? Dean told me once that knocks you right out.”

“Don’t tell Dean I’m sick. He’ll take off work. He can’t afford it. He’ll say it’s okay, but I know it’s not.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Shh. Okay, Sam. It’s okay. Dean’s not here.”

As soon as it was out of his mouth, Castiel knew it had been the wrong thing to say to a feverish Sam. His eyes went wide. “Not here? But…he’s always here!”

“He’s at his place, Sam.”

Hurt and terror filled those hazel eyes. “He did it. He left without me. Said he wouldn’t.”

“Shh! Sam, no, Dean didn’t…Baby, you left, okay? For school. He’s forty minutes out, he’s really close.”

But the sobs were already crushing Sam’s battered chest. There were no tears. He was far too dehydrated for that. “He left without me…”

“No!” Castiel gave a frustrated groan. “Look, here’s what we’ll do. Let me call him, okay? Please, Sam, I didn’t mean to…I don’t know what to do. We’ll call Dean, and maybe I should take you to the hospital. Maybe you need an IV or something.” He let his fingers fly over the phone in his hands, then he listened to it ring while holding Sam’s forehead. “Baby, your skin is boiling.” He paused as the line picked up.

“Novak.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

There came a grunting noise from the other end of the line, as if Dean were sitting up in bed. “No, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sam. He’s really sick.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour. Twenty-five if they’ve fixed that detour.”

“No!” He sighed. “No, you don’t need to come. I just…He just wants to hear you. Can you just talk to him for a minute? His fever’s really bad, and he’s so dehydrated that…” The man cringed as he realized he was effectively telling Dean just how miserable a job he was doing taking care of his little brother. “Maybe I should take him to the ER. The fever’s bad and I can’t get him drinking anything.”

“Shit. He gets messed up when he’s that sick. Always has. Give him the phone.”

Castiel could not help the wave of relief washing over him. Dean would know what to do. “Sam? Here, listen. It’s Dean, okay, baby?” He put the phone on speaker and held it on his palm.

“Dean?”

He flinched at the pitiful, hopeful sound.

“Hiya, Sammy. You being a little shit for Cas?”

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was not how he had expected the conversation to begin.

“No, I’m sick,” he slurred.

“He’s trying to make you drink something, right?”

Sam glanced guiltily at the mug on the table.

 “Right. So I’m telling you to drink it.”

“Dean…” Castiel began worriedly.

“Cas, just stow it a minute, okay? Sammy? What’d I tell you? I gotta come kick your ass, or you going to listen?”

Sam’s shaking hands reached for the mug, and Castiel hurried to help.   “Cas? He drinking it?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Slow, Sammy. Okay? Not all at once. But steady, okay?” 

Sam’s foggy eyes took on a hint of defiance. “Screw you, Dean,” he croaked. “I’m not a child.”

There came a snort from the other end of the line. “Could have fooled me. Cas is talking about taking you to the hospital. That what you want?”

“No.”

“Then man up and do what he tells you to do. You hear me?”

Castiel was frowning. “Dean, he’s not-“

“Cas, did I say stow it? Sammy, you still there?”

Sam swallowed a gulp of broth. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Castiel found himself wondering if other brothers spoke to each other this way. Gabriel and Raf rarely spoke at all, except to snipe at one another, but the give and take of the Winchester brothers seemed almost…practiced, as if they had their own language, as if the same words Castiel thought he knew had an entirely different meaning for them. Either way, Sam’s face was taking on a look of stubborn determination, replacing the complete capitulation from before.

“Cas picks up that phone again, I’m coming to kick your whiny ass, you hear me?”

“You can try.”

“I better not have to. I got a girl in my bed who’s a hell of a lot cuter than you, and I like her better.”

To Castiel’s astonishment, Sam wheezed out a tiny laugh, and took another sip. Under Dean’s coercion, he had managed to take in half the broth, and he could already see the beginning of relief in Sam’s face. “Screw you, jackass. Didn’t get sick to mess with your sex life.”

“I bet it ain’t doing much for yours either.”

Sam’s sleepy gaze raised to meet Castiel’s. “Yeah.”

“Finish that drink, whatever he gave you, and then you sleep. You hear me? You’re a little bitch when you get sick, and I’m not having you run off the only guy stupid enough to put up with you. Seriously. You’re going to scare the crap out of him if you let yourself get so bad you start doing your famous crazy, babbling sick Sammy routine, which you never remember the next day. I’ll come stick an IV in you, and you won’t like where.”

“Whatever.”

“Sammy?”

“Okay! I’m drinking, and I’m going to sleep. Go away.”

Castiel took the phone off speaker. He caressed Sam’s hair, then stood to walk out of earshot. “He’s managed to drink a lot of the broth. I’m afraid it will come up, but I think it will help until then.”

“It will. It’s always his problem. He gets sick, first thing he does is throw up everything in his system. Then he gets all messed up because he’s got nothing left. He needs to hydrate and protein…ate.”

He waited.

 “Okay. Probably not a word, proteinate. Should be a word. Anyway, he gets sick like this when he gets stressed bad. Doesn’t take care of himself, lets himself get all run down, and then his immune system says screw you and he catches something nasty, and he’s got no energy left to fight it. Did it to himself his whole life. He spends a week running himself into the ground, then crashes like a mac truck with no warning. Then he just lies back and waits to die. You can’t let him do that, it’ll take twice as long for him to shake it. I know you want to baby him, but he needs to get stubborn to kick it, and he won’t do that if you’re not pushy.”

“I don’t know if I can do that to him.”

“That’s why you got my number.”

Castiel smiled softly. “Thank you, Dean. Do you think I should try to bring his fever down?”

“A round of Tylenol won’t kill him. But if he can get comfortable, just let him sweat it out, if it ain’t too bad. Fever is the body’s way of scaring the shit out of germs. It’s like the way they used the auto-destruct on Star Trek all the time. Threatens to take the ship down with it, but it’s really just fighting the invading force.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Dude, you never understand any reference. Go watch a movie.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’m sorry it’s so late at night.”

“Practically morning, buddy. I got too many things to do to sleep anyway. Seriously, though, you need me to come by, text me, and I’ll be there. I spent too many years keeping that kid alive to let him puke his lungs out now. If you decide to drag his ass to a doctor, I’ll give you my credit card info. Pay in full; he doesn’t have insurance. But I think he’ll be okay if you just keep pushing water on him. Tell him to call tomorrow.”

Dean Winchester never ceased to amaze him. He never seemed to react to things in the way Castiel expected. His whole life’s energy was spent on four focuses, as far as Castiel could tell: his jobs at the garage and the Roadhouse; his car; Pamela Barnes; and his little brother. If there were anything else Dean cared about, it was hard to tell, and Castiel was fairly certain the first three things on the list, while extremely important to Dean, were overshadowed by the instinct to care for Sam. Even though he was no longer a child, and was physically larger and far more capable than most men Castiel knew, Sam would always be Dean’s little brother.

He was just glad the man saw him as an ally and not a threat. Castiel often thought of his lover as a human golden retriever or German shepherd, but Dean was clearly a bulldog. He would not like to cross him. He much preferred their growing friendship.

***

The man curled up like a cat at the foot of the bed jerked awake as Sam began retching. He leapt to help, but Sam shook his head and waved him off. When he could speak again, he sighed. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” His throat burned badly from all the acid which had passed through it overnight, and he did not want to talk.

"Sam."

He heard his name, felt it like a physical caress, and even as sick as he felt, he closed his eyes and let his heart hold onto it for a moment. Then he took a breath, willing his body to cooperate with his brain, and stood.

Castiel was on him in a blink. "Wait, Sam! Let me!"

The four inches Sam had over Castiel made the older man a perfect fit to carry him. His angel had pointed it out early in their relationship when Sam had asked shyly if his height or mass bothered him. Without a word, Castiel had ducked under one of Sam's arms and put his own arm about Sam's waist, and lifted with a confident strength that had shocked Sam. He had nearly come off his feet in that one playful tug.

But other than a few times when Dean had poured him too much Jäger or tequila, he had never needed to actually carry the large man anywhere.

Today, he simply supported Sam's heft and lead him to the couch in the living area. "Stay here, baby. I'm going to get you some juice, and then I'm going to make you some real broth."

Sam nodded. "Then a shower?" he croaked hopefully.

"We'll see. Probably a bath. Don't sulk."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't like baths," he pouted. He watched Castiel pull oranges from the fruit bowl and move them to the cutting board. He wished he didn't feel dizzy when his eyes were open too long. He liked to watch Castiel float around the kitchen. It was like a graceful, grumpy dance.

"Only because you don't fit," the man sent back.

“Is that not a good enough reason?”

Castiel looked up from halving oranges with a sympathetic smile. “Of course, baby. But you might have to settle for that just this once.”

 _Baby_. There it was again. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts for several minutes, so that he did not waste what little voice he had left on stuttering. “Cas?”

The man approached with a small glass of orange juice. "Just drink this slowly, okay? Can I get you something else? Do you think you could eat some eggs? Or toast? I'm going to get a pillow from the bed. These aren't good for a headache. Wait here, baby."

"Cas!"

His hiss seemed to jar the man, and he whirled to stare. "What's wrong?"

But now he was looking into those fierce blue eyes, and they were full of worry, and he didn't think anything was wrong. Except that twelve hours ago, Castiel had never called him _baby_.

"Um...I can't..." He sighed. "Can you just sit for a minute?" His voice was hoarse and it hurt to use it, but the juice would likely help with that, and there was anesthetic in his lover's eyes and arms anyway.

The shift was immediate. "Yeah, baby. Of course."

And Castiel was physically incapable of not touching once he was within reach. The inked arms wrapped around him, pulled him in until Sam was practically on top of him, but it felt so good there. His headache eased just as he had known it would when he lay it on Castiel's powerful chest. If the intensity of Castiel's protective nature could be bottled, it would be the most effective painkiller on the market.

Long fingers were scratching through his hair, massaging his scalp. Whenever a man had touched his hair in the past, it had been either for his own stimulation and not Sam's, or it had been a controlling tug. Sam's size often intimidated potential lovers, and it was common for them to posture that way, to exert a dominance over their large prey. With Castiel, it was a gesture of love and fondness, a way of easing Sam's stress without even being asked. It was one of the millions of things Sam adored about the man. He intended to make a list one day.

"What can I do, pup?" his angel was murmuring into his hair. He punctuated sentences with kisses. "Is there anything you need from me? How can I help?"

 _Pup_ was best. It meant Sam and only Sam. _Baby_? That could be anyone. Perhaps it had been everyone. Maybe Castiel had called Meg _baby_. And Balt. And every fling and whimsy in between.

"Angel? Can I be an idiot for a little while and then we can pretend I was just delirious from fever?"

Castiel's laugh was soft, and Sam could feel it rumble in the man's chest. "You mean like last night, or like when you're not as drunk as you pretend and you use it as an opportunity to be experimental in bed?"

The flush on his face had nothing to do with fever. "God, you're an ass."

"You don't even still have a fever and you're never an idiot, but sure. Let's pretend." He continued soothing the brown hair lovingly.

He sighed. It was so comfortable here. Maybe he shouldn't ruin it, but he wanted to talk. Actually, he didn't want to talk. It hurt. He wished he could just plug in to Castiel's head and upload what he was thinking into a shared mainframe. He and Charlie had fantasized about that ability on many occasions.

He closed his eyes.

"Can you...I'd like to talk about..."

"What's wrong, pup?"

"How am I different?" he blurted.

Castiel was quiet. He did not ask for clarification as Sam thought he might. Instead he continued sifting his inked fingers through hair that Sam was too aware was not even clean.

"Cas?"

There was a very strange tone in the deep voice when he finally spoke, and something about it made Sam's heart stand still. "Sam, do you know what I think about when a needle is about to touch my skin?"

Sam frowned. He obviously knew that was where the piercings and tattoos came from, but he didn't like to think about it.

"I think art is the best thing to come from pain. That this scarring of my canvas gives me control of pain. I welcome it. I invite it in. That way, I'm in control, and it can't take me by surprise. It's an armor."

"I don't understand."

"I bring pain into my life and turn it into something I want it to be, so it can't just walk in and turn me into what it wants me to be."

Sam chewed on this for a moment. It might not be logical but it made sense in a poetic way. But how did that relate to his question?

"I've been grabbing hold of pain and making it mine my whole life. There is no pain that has ever been stronger than me. Except that when I hold you, I'm so in awe of what I have that I hurt in a way I never even knew a person could hurt. It isn't a pain I can channel or mold or conquer. The fear is so complete, it's become a part of my soul."

"Fear?" Sam breathed as tears sparked behind his eyes.

"Fear. Because I know I can give you all of me, for eternity, and it will never be enough. Fear that I would crush you if I held you as tight as I want to. Fear that I'll never be able to make you feel the way you deserve to feel every moment of your life." Castiel kissed the top of his head again. "That's how you're different, pup. I don't know what you meant when you asked, but that's how you're different. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was damned the instant you let me touch you. You are the only part of this universe I truly need, and no one has ever hurt like you do."

Tears rolled down Sam's nose and lips, back into his hair and down his neck. "You called me baby," he whispered. "You never did that before."

"I never called anyone that before," Castiel admitted quietly. "I didn't realize I had said it. I'm sorry."

This was a surprise. Everything about Castiel was always so calculated, every word tasted before served. It had not occurred to him he might not be aware of the endearment he had used all night and this morning.

"So...I guess it isn't like..."

Castiel's smile was in his voice. "Like what?"

"You're not getting bored with me, are you?" It seemed like such a childish thing to say, especially after all that ridiculous poetry, but he could not help it.

Castiel pushed him up gently to look him in the face. "Is this the part where you're being an idiot?" he asked with a smile. His eyes were filled with confusion, and they were searching Sam's intensely.

"Probably."

At last, Castiel seemed satisfied with what he had seen in Sam's eyes, and he leaned back. "So? You bored?"

"No!"

"Then why would I be?"

Sam sighed with frustration. "I don't know. But you're flirting with everything remotely human, and coming home later every night, and I can't even bring myself to call you because I'm afraid of either you not picking up or you picking up and me hearing something I don't want to hear."

He watched his lover's eyes widen and his lips part. He found he could not stare into that hurt blue gaze, so he let his focus drop down to the place just off-center on Castiel's bottom lip which often hosted a tiny metal hoop but was bare this morning.

"Cas? Say something?"

In his periphery, Sam could see the blue eyes flash with anger, and he flinched without meaning to. With his heart pounding this way, he was afraid he might throw up again.

Then Castiel reached for the juice, left abandoned on the coffee table, and pressed it into Sam's hand. "Please drink this. I'm going to send a text to let Dean know you survived the night, and I'm going out. I'll be back in just a few minutes." He stood and wandered toward the door, still barefoot and shirtless, dressed only in a pair of gym pants that were about half an inch too long. He took his keys from the rack on the wall.

"Cas?"

"Sam, drink the juice. I said I would be back."

"I didn't mean to make you angry."

Castiel would not look at him. "You can't make me angry. No one can do that but me. I will be back." This last statement was said in very slow, chopped syllables, and it allowed for no response.

Sam watched the beautiful painted wings disappear behind the door. Immediately, the apartment felt colder, and he hugged at his arms as he shivered. He sipped at the juice, but it was so difficult to swallow that he soon gave up.

 _He had hurt Castiel_.

It was not the ache of being so incredibly in love that the man had called pain just minutes ago. It was not the gnawing feeling of always wanting to be more for his lover that he had called fear.

 _He had hurt Castiel_.

The most beautiful man he had ever known had just professed a soul full of eternal love for him, and he had countered by accusing him of...what? Being too charismatic and social? Interacting with other humans? Allowing people to see how lucky Sam was?

He was gagging when Charlie answered the phone.

"Great Gygax, Sam! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sick," he sobbed.

"Shit. Is Cas there? Need me to come over?"

He took a breath, swallowed some juice, and sighed. "No. I screwed up, Charlie."

She waited.

"Cas...he walked out a minute ago."

"Walked out, walked out, or like went to grab a bagel?"

"Just air, I guess. He isn't wearing a shirt."

She cleared her throat. "Okay. Probably not going to serve him at a bagel shop then. So? What did you do to piss him off so bad he couldn't even pull on a hoodie before heading out?"

Sam was crying so hard his whole body shook, but his eyes refused to produce tears. Somewhere in his brain, he knew that meant he was still dangerously dehydrated. He replayed for Charlie what he had said to his lover, and he realized again how unfair it had been.

"Okay. Probably about a dozen better ways you could have said that. But it's true, right? I mean, that girl at the library? She who he went out with last night?"

"He didn't say." Sam was miserable.

Charlie sighed. "Right. It isn't out of line to ask him where you stand. He needs to know what you're feeling."

"He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Then why did he walk out?"

Sam was silent.

"I don't know the whole situation, but it seems to me he should have at least said you were wrong."

His head fell into his hands.

***

Castiel spoke through clenched teeth. "He's alive," he reported bitterly.

Dean's laugh broke over the line. "'Morning to you too, Novak. My brother being a pain in the ass?"

"I might have to drug him."

"No argument here. He'll sleep off his whiny bitchiness, and probably heal up faster to boot."

Castiel sighed. "It isn't exams getting him stressed. Not all of it anyway. It's me. Says I'm out too late with friends at night."

Dean's response was quiet. "That actually what he said?"

Castiel hesitated because, okay, no, that was not what Sam had said. "He says I flirt with everything remotely human, and he's afraid of what he'll hear if he calls me while I'm out."

"Yeah? Any way he's got a point?"

Castiel smiled ruefully and stared out over the roof into the Sunday morning below. "Why do you think I called you?"

"Because just like my kid brother, you need somebody to kick your ass and tell you to man up and take your medicine."

He laughed quietly. "I love your brother, man. I really do."

"Awesome. So go suck it up and do better."

Do better. This was why he called Dean. No bedside manner, no gentleness. Just exactly what he needed to hear.

"I'm listening to football pre-game radio while under the hood of a '67 Impala, Cas. My girl woke up this morning and told me if I wanted to buy her a ring, she might wear it. All my bills are paid. And my brother is happy for the first time in his life. Don't screw this up."

"I won't."

"I'm serious. If I thought for a second you were actually slutting around on my brother, I'd come rip your lungs out. But you're not. So man up, go back in there, and tell him to give the drama a rest. Besides, he might need you to hold his hair back while he's puking."

Castiel snickered. "Screw you, Winchester."

"Text me and let me know how he's doing later."

"I will."

He started to hang up, then brought the phone back to his ear as he heard Dean speak again. "Cas? I'm glad you call me. We should go get a beer, just us, when Sammy's feeling better."

He smiled to himself. "Yeah. You owe me a beer for raising such a whiny brat."

Dean's laughter burst out in a thick bark. "Fair enough."

Castiel took another moment to breathe in fresh air. He thought back to Nepal, to time he had spent on mountain tops. He loved high places. There was little he enjoyed more than to flip through a challenging book after a challenging climb.

So what was keeping him from rising to this challenge? He could face a world's worth of dangerous situations without so much as a flinch, but dozen words from his lover's lips had him reeling.

Because it wasn't just him anymore. The risk, it was not just himself he was risking. He and Sam were in this together, and part of his stubborn brain was refusing to acknowledge that. Hannah was wrong. Sam was not trying to keep a leash on him. Sam was trying to share a life with him. And the way the two of them danced around their emotions was exhausting them both.

"I'm too old for this shit," Castiel shouted as he entered the apartment and tossed his keys aside. "So come on, pup. Let's throw down."

Sam had not moved from where he had been deposited. He stared at Castiel, his face awash in anguish. Then he swallowed. "Cas, I'm sorry."

"Nope," the man corrected, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. "Nope. We aren't going to apologize. I reject your apology. You do not get to do that. You want painkillers before we start this?"

Sam blinked at him. "Um. Yeah. Thank you."

Castiel nodded, and busied himself getting acetaminophen and a glass of water for Sam, along with a cup of Greek yogurt. "No matter how irritated you are with me, keep hydrating," he ordered as he handed the items over.

"I'm going to throw this up."

"That's okay. You need to try."

Sam nodded. He choked down the medicine with the rest of his juice, which pulled a smile from Castiel.

"I know you're trying, baby," he muttered. Then he stopped and looked down at Sam in surprise. "Baby. Do you hate that?"

His puppy lay back on the couch weakly. "No," he said softly. "I actually love it. But I can't stand to think..."

Castiel lowered himself to perch on the coffee table. "What, Sam? Stop stopping!"

"I don't know. That maybe you're using it because you're thinking of somebody else. Or worse, that it's generic enough to be anybody at all."

"How are you different. Okay, pup, you know what? You're different because I have never, ever caught myself calling anyone anything cute in my whole life. Ever. Do I look like a guy who calls anybody any of the things I call you?"

Sam's mouth quirked with a tiny smile. "No. Not really."

"Not at all," he corrected firmly. "And you call me Angel, jackass, so screw you, okay? I'll call you any fluffy, obnoxious sweet thing I want. Especially when you're being pitiful and sick and all I want to do is wrap you up in blankets and smother you till you feel better."

The hazel eyes were looking up at him with that irresistible adoration mixed with a touch of amusement that made him feel a blush coming on.

"And another thing. I always take your call. Always. Don't you ever think I would ignore your call. I'm not a freaking twelve year old or a whipped sitcom husband. I might tell you I'm busy or something but I'm not going to not answer. And as for you hearing something you don't want to?"

Sam's eyes closed.

"Yeah. That was unfair, and you know it, you little ass. I've never given you reason not to trust me. What do you think you're going to overhear? Some guy screaming my name or some woman giggling? Or I know! One of each!"

The man glowered at him. "Don't make fun of me."

"I _will_ make fun of you, because you're ridiculous. You're right. I've been spending a lot of time out with people who aren't you. And okay, maybe I've even been a little..."

"Whorish?" Sam supplied helpfully.

"Friendly."

"Whorish," Sam confirmed. But this time, he smiled a bit when he said it.

"But do you even know why? Pup, you've given me this strange idea that maybe I’m worth getting to know. I always thought not compromising who I am meant being on my own, and I was okay with that, but it turns out maybe when someone treats me like I’m attractive or like I’m good company, it isn’t always because they need something from me. I like who I am, Sam. It just never really occurred to me that someone else might too.”

His lover was shaking his head, and sighing. “Cas, what you are? It’s beautiful. And it’s arrogant and selfish to think you’re the only one who could possibly appreciate you.”

Tears burst out with the laughter. Castiel took a large hand in both of his, and kissed it in a way that felt like worship. “See? That’s what you do. You have this amazing knack for screwing up everything I ever knew for sure. Sam, my whole life, I have always been a burden. Every home, every foster family. I was this broken thing they had to care for, a feral cat passed from house to house. And I focused all my energy on surviving on my own. Looking back, it’s probably part of why I was never adopted. I never seemed like I wanted to connect with other living things. Then when I decided I did want to connect, it was because at the deepest part of my soul, I get the most pleasure out of helping. It wasn’t until you that it even crossed my mind that I could be wanted because of who I am and not because of what I was willing to do. That maybe being a burden and being a caretaker were not the only choices in a relationship.”

“So…the girls at the library?”

Castiel shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know. It’s fun sometimes to know someone is interested. I don’t have to be interested back in order to enjoy that, do I? You make me feel like I’m not just acceptable, that I’m actually something better than that. So, yeah. I guess I’ve been enjoying testing that theory on other people.”

The brown head nodded, and weary eyes watched him. “Is it okay that I feel a little insecure when you do that? Cas, I’ve been aware of how amazing you are since we met. The rest of the world knows too. So just because you’re only now figuring out that people feel that way, that doesn’t mean it’s only just now happening. For almost a year, I’ve put up with people staring at you and finding excuses to talk to you, and strangers coming up to ask you about your tats. There’s this crazy magnetism that you don’t even know you’ve got, and it’s turned on all the time. I get how dating Dean must be now! It’s exhausting to be so completely in love with someone who just personifies charisma.”

Castiel ran his hand down his face. "God, you're adorable. Why would you think that's not how I feel about you?"

"Because I'm not a freaking tornado like Dean or a walking, talking artistic masterpiece like you!" he snapped. "And I'm not gorgeous like the girls I see falling over you all the time. I know what your exes all had in common, Cas. They were all breathtaking. Not to mention all petite little bitches. They were probably even cute when they were sick."

"You done?"

"How do I compete with that, Cas? These perfect little dolls everywhere, all competing for your attention, and then there's me. Just a nerdy freak. Insecure, needy, bitchy nerdy freak. And you love me, and you know I need you, so you take care of me, but maybe what you really want is to go enjoy the fact that you suddenly notice people are climbing over one another to get to you."

"Are you done?" he asked again.

"I think so," he whined.

"Make sure. Because we are not doing this again."

"I'm sorry, Cas. I don't mean to be a needy, jealous mess."

"I'm sorry I'm a neglectful, defensive whore."

Sam laughed quietly, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes.

"Sam, I don't like talking. But if we need to do it, we need to do it, and putting it off till you start imagining the worst and then make yourself sick with stress during midterms your junior year of college? I could be wrong, but I think that's a poor strategy.” He reached out to brush the pale face with his fingertips. “Can we try talking before we get all pissed with one another next time?”

The man on the couch sighed heavily. “You know the worst part of all this?”

“That I feel like shit for not even noticing you were making yourself sick while I went out every night this week?”

He made a face. “Um…no, that’s not what I was going to say. No, the worst part is that I feel so terrible that we can’t even have makeup sex.”

Castiel gave him a broad smile. “Let’s settle for you finishing that breakfast, and then letting me soap you up in the bathtub. At least I’ll get to enjoy it.”

“And I’ll smell better,” Sam agreed.

“There’s that too.”

***

Pamela elbowed Castiel in the side, making him jump. “You awake, kid?”

“Just thinking.”

“Don’t have to be psychic to guess about what. But did you know I am a little bit psychic?”

Castiel threw back his shot and caught Benny’s eye before tapping a finger on the rim. He did not bother even glancing at Pamela. “Not as psychic as I am. In fact, I’m getting a vision right now of you walking away with all of my liquor money.”

Benny snorted. “He ain’t an idiot, Barnes. Go try that couple in the corner. Cas is smart enough to keep one hand on his wallet when you’re around.” He poured a generous shot for Castiel. As Pamela rolled her eyes and walked away from the bar, Benny grinned at him. “Poor Pamela. She’s striking out at every angle tonight.”

“She needs to try somebody who doesn’t know she supplements her income through other people’s gullibility.”

Dean was leaning on the bar with a smile, watching Pamela strutting around the room after an easy mark. His eyes were a bit unfocused, but otherwise, there was little evidence of how much he had already drunk. He placed the beer bottle to his lips happily.

Castiel was smiling into his own shot glass. He could hear Sam laughing across the busy room. The young guy, Kevin, was his partner against Charlie and Jo, and it was obvious just from the way Sam was shaking his head that the ladies were mopping the floor with them. It should have been a fair matchup, considering that Charlie and Kevin were about equally terrible and Sam and Jo were both brutal players, but Sam was still on a high from having finished his exams, and was not taking the game as seriously as Kevin might have liked.

“Hey,” Dean called, his eyes still steady on Pamela. “You still smirking over that gangly nerd at the tables? Nothing but trouble, that guy.”

He laughed to himself. “Yeah, but he’s over six feet of stunning, and an amazing lay. He’s the kind of trouble I like.”

“Yuck.” Dean seemed to be washing a bad taste from his mouth with his beer. “Do not want to think about my brother being any kind of lay.”

The younger man shrugged and threw his shot, then licked his lips. “You’re jealous that he’s the sexy one.”

“Whatever.”

Castiel turned and leaned his elbows against the bar, and joined Dean in surveying the room. “When exactly did it occur to you that your kid brother was so much sexier than you? That was a tough day, huh?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Sam’s ass is-“

Dean punched him in the shoulder. “That’s it! I draw the line at hearing about his ass!”

He snickered. “Then don’t call him a gangly nerd.”  

“Fair enough.” The man glanced at his friend with fondness. “So? You two are back to Brad and Angelina?”

Pamela floated back to the bar and slipped her arm around Dean’s waist. “Brangelina? What would that make you two, Cas?”

Benny’s voice called out from where he was setting up another customer. “Sastiel!” he shouted in his long drawl.

“What?”

“No, no. Samstiel,” Charlie corrected as the group returned to the bar. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think it’s Samstiel.”

The man towering over her made a face. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

“They’re saying that the portmanteau for you and Cas would be Sastiel. Obviously. I’m saying it’s Samstiel.”

The two men exchanged cringes. “Wait, you’ve actually thought about this?”

Jo nodded. “She talks about it. Apparently we’re Charjo. And you two,” she added, pointing at Dean and Pamela, “you don’t even want to know what you two are.”

Charlie winked at Kevin. “Want to know what you and Benny are?” 

A look of horror came over the man’s face, but the bartender simply smirked. “Charlie, you’re scaring the young’un.”

“It’s Bevin,” she giggled. “Just so you know. Kenny isn’t cute enough.”

Kevin sighed. “Awesome. I’m going to go have nightmares now.”

Benny gave him a grin. “While you’re dreaming, remember I’m all bite and no bark.”

Dean grabbed Kevin around the shoulders. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just trying to mess with your head, Advanced Placement.”

Castiel felt Sam’s hand on the small of his back. He let his eyes close, and everything else in the room seemed to drift away. His shots had warmed him and there was a pleasant humming in his mind, and all he knew was the weight of that large hand possessing him.

Somewhere on the other side of his foggy mind, Benny had given Kevin a break and turned his irrepressible charm on Hannah who was at the other end of the bar with Crowley and Ash. Bringing her to meet Benny had been an act of true inspiration, and he was pleased to see how well it had gone all night long.

But right now, everything else was quiet white noise. Sam’s hand on his back was the only thing in his world. He knew Sam was tired, still worn out from nearly two weeks of stress and illness. On the other hand, he also remembered how beautiful the man had been lying in his bed this morning, and it made him want to pounce on his puppy right here, in front of everyone. He found himself wondering if he could take on Dean when the man inevitably tried to kill him, and giggled.

“What’s so funny, Angel?”

“Just thinking about how pissed your brother would be if I threw you facedown on the bar and ripped off your clothes.”

“I’m guessing he would be very pissed.”

“I think I could handle him.”

“Let’s not try, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes were still closed, but he slid his hands up Sam’s chest and faced him. He made Sam bend at the neck to deliver his soft lips into reach. Behind him, he could hear Dean awkwardly sputter on his beer, but he didn’t care. When their lips parted, Sam dropped his weight onto the barstool, and Castiel put his mouth up against his ear, touching the soft hair and breathing onto the man’s neck. “May I at least tell you what I’d do to you?”

Sam nudged him gently. “No, you may not,” he whispered back. “You know I have no poker face when it comes to you.”

This made Castiel’s buzzed brain happy. “Well, it isn’t like I’d tell you anything about licking my way down your neck, and biting into your shoulder. I wouldn’t make you think about me dripping vodka onto your back, letting it pool just above your gorgeous ass, and drinking it off of you. I’m not mean enough to mention grabbing your hips and pushing you into a hard bar, and-“

“Jesus, Cas!” His lover gave him a meaningful glare and shoved him, but there was no real strength behind it.

Castiel could see the truth in those dark hazel eyes. He leaned back in to his lover’s ear. “Would you rather be on your back?”

“Dammit!” Sam laughed, a hot flush flooding his face and throat. He swatted at Castiel. “Enough. You’re a jackass.”

For a final time, Castiel leaned in, and he let his lips actually touch Sam’s ear this time. “I’m going to make you very happy as soon as you let me get you out of here.”

“Keep it up and we won’t make it all the way home.”

The grin he gave Sam was more of a predatory, feral sneer than a smile. “Promise?”

Charlie, Jo and Kevin pulled Sam in for one more round of pool, and he watched Crowley and Ash begin the most complicated and philosophical drinking game he had ever seen, while Hannah studied Benny’s shy laugh. Pamela headed off for another attempt at feeding off the weak and gullible, and Dean watched her go.

“You and Sammy are good, then.”

Castiel smiled, licking his lips to taste the last bit of Sam’s mouth. “Yeah. We’re figuring things out.”

“You go shopping?”

He took a long pull from the bottle Sam had abandoned, cutting a glance at the older man. “Did you?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m covered,” he said vaguely. “What about you? Find something that’s going to work?”

The men leaned against the bar, drinking their beer and staring at their lovers with quiet appreciation. At last, Castiel smiled. “Maybe. That thing you told me to do. It worked. I just tossed it at him, and he picked it up and put it on without even thinking about it.”

“I thought he would.”

“So that confirmed his size. And I found something I like.”

Dean smiled into his bottle. “You got it on you?”

A small box was deposited onto the bar behind him, and Dean turned to look into it while Castiel continued staring out toward the pool tables.

His friend nodded. “It’s good. I like it. He’ll like it.”

Castiel returned the box to his jacket pocket. “I hope so. When are you doing it?”

“Tonight, at home. After a few more beers. I mean, I already did it. Months ago. But…real this time. You?”

“Thanksgiving break begins in few days. Since I’m graduating early in December, and looking into research opportunities, I want to do it now.”

“Good luck, man.” Dean held out the neck of his bottle.

Castiel clicked it with his own. “You too.”

They both drank, and spent the next twenty minutes in shared, comfortable silence as the noise and lights about them dimmed into the background, leaving a halo around only the visions of a lovely, mischievous woman in tight denim and a tall, powerful man with a kind smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming soon...Story 6: Time for a wedding.
> 
> COMMENTS are LOVE!


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